An Unexpected Destination
by fortytworedvines
Summary: Things are going badly wrong in Martin's homelife, and Douglas's isn't great either. MJN's like a family now, and they'll help each other out- but they have to reveal their problems first.
1. Dublin

**An Unexpected Destination**

Dublin

"It was the alternator," said the man who was delivering Martin's newly-repaired van, "three hundred quid."

Martin gulped. "Of course." He wrote the cheque out quickly, retrieved his keys and disappeared back into the house before the man could see the humiliating tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks.

The house was empty; all the students were out on placement today, which meant they'd be back smelling of animals and probably covered in unspeakable things, a lot later on.

Three hundred pounds. That was all the money remaining in his bank account, substantial overdraft included. Just as Carolyn was always saying that one incident could kill MJN, so one unexpected bill could finish him off.

Three hundred pounds! And to make matters worse, MJN was pretty booked up for the foreseeable future, which meant no time to actually use his van to try and earn some money.

He moved drearily into the kitchen, surveyed the meagre contents of his cupboard. A few packets of spaghetti, one potato, some chopped tomatoes, half a loaf of bread. And until he booked some more jobs (and completed them without mishap) that was all he had. He leant his head against the cool wood and let the tears run.

He went to bed without dinner. He lay there, still, listening to the students trooping back in, their cheery voices floating up to him. Oh, to be that young and optimistic again! But then he'd never been terribly optimistic. He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't had to fight hard for things to turn out well for him. He knew that he really was in dire straits this time. But the one thing he clung to desperately, the one thing that no-one could take away from him, was his pride. He would pull himself out of this, he told himself firmly. Eventually he dozed off into a land of strange nightmares, the details of which floated away the moment he woke up, leaving him with a sense of vague unease.

Carolyn called soon after he woke up. "Morning Martin," she was chirpy and brisk as always, "popping over to Dublin today, short notice. I'll pick you up in half an hour."

Martin mumbled something which might have been agreement at her and hung up. He struggled out of bed and pulled on his uniform, checked his reflection in the mirror and thought that, yes, it was worth it, to be a captain, it really was.

He had one slice of toast for breakfast and pinched a dash of somebody else's milk for his coffee. He tried to ignore the rumbling in his stomach which protested that this really wasn't enough breakfast when it hadn't had food since midday yesterday.

"Morning Skip!" Arthur greeted him. "We're going to Dublin! Isn't it brilliant!"

In the face of Arthur's never-ending cheeriness, Martin couldn't help but feel slightly happier. Five minutes later they stopped outside Douglas's house. "Morning all," he said as he climbed into the back seat.

"What, no remark on the beauty of the day?" asked Carolyn.

Douglas glared at her reflection in the rearview mirror. "Suffice it to say, I'm not in the mood today."

"Wow Douglas! What's wrong?" Arthur stared at him, puzzled.

Douglas didn't answer.

"Post take off checks complete Sir."

"Thank you Douglas," Martin stared at the beautiful view and his lips twitched in a smile. Stunning.

"So, _sir_, I propose a game of Airports. Each to start with the last letter of the previously named."

"Sure."

"And to make matters more interesting, if you can't think of one in twenty seconds you lose a point. Person with fewest points at the end loses their pudding."

"No," said Martin abruptly, his stomach clenching at the thought of food, "No betting today."

"Well, whatever sir wishes," agreed Douglas after a second.

"Skip, skip!" cried Arthur, bursting merrily into the cockpit. "One of the passengers has a lemon on their head! I didn't know you were playing the Travelling Lemon again!"

"Oh Douglas," groaned Martin, "Not this again."

"I assure you, _Sir_, entertaining though I find the game, in this instance a lemon on a passenger's head has nothing to do with me."

"Well it wasn't Mum," said Arthur, "Cos she's not here."

Douglas looked meaningfully at Martin.

"You can't just go up to somebody and ask why they have a lemon on their head," Martin pointed out, "It'd make you look like an idiot!"

"No more of an idiot than they currently look, sitting there with a _lemon on their head_."

"Douglas is right-

-"I usually am"-

"-Skip. Maybe they don't know it's there."

"How could anybody _possibly_ have a lemon on their head and not know it's there?"

"Well Skip -"

"Alright Arthur," Martin cut him off hurriedly, "If it's still there in half an hour I'll go and, um, tell him."

"It's a her, Skip," said Arthur cheerfully, and left.

Martin sighed.

Douglas looked at Martin, at his drawn, worried face. "Hey Chief," he began, "I _might be wrong_, but I think that something's troubling you. This makes me feel concerned for you. One thing we _could_ do is talk about it. How does that sound to you?"

Martin looked at Douglas, astonished. "Concerned for me? Really?"

"It might have escaped your attention, sir, but I think that these days we might be considered friends. So, what's wrong?"

Martin looked away. "Just the van's been playing up."

"Ah," said Douglas, and that was all, but Martin had a feeling that Douglas had understood a lot more than Martin had just told him. Douglas was after all very good at doing that. Douglas's presence in his life, much like in the cockpit, was loud and sometimes cutting but it gave him an odd sense of safety. Like Douglas would always be there to have his back.

In the light of their newly declared friendship, he found himself wondering about Douglas's behaviour that morning.

"Douglas?"

"Yes Martin?"

"What was wrong this morning? You weren't quite your usual obnoxious self."

"Oh, that." Douglas avoided Martin's eyes. "Helena moved out yesterday."

"Oh Douglas!" Martin's own worries were subsumed by pity for his First Officer. "I'm so sorry to hear that. You always said she was your favourite Mrs Richardson." Martin patted him sympathetically on the back.

Douglas accepted the pat stoically. "I don't think I'll be looking for Mrs Richardson the fourth any time soon. Helena was…is…" he trailed off.

"You know what?" Martin said, "Sometimes I think it must be really nice to be Arthur."

On cue, Arthur came barrelling back in. "Lunch!" he passed them a plate each and they pulled identical expressions of, well, a mixture of emotions including but not limited to; worry, disgust and morbid curiosity.

"Arthur, what in heavens name is this?" asked Douglas.

"You've got Sausage Surprise and Skip's got Amazing Rice. Mum's cutting costs again." He left, quickly.

"Got any sandwiches?" Douglas asked Martin.

"Nope."

"We ought to stagger eating then. You go first and I'll wait and if you don't start vomiting, I'll risk mine."

"Reassuring, thanks," grumbled Martin. "I wonder what makes Amazing Rice different from Surprising Rice?" he wondered pensively, but a twinge of hunger reminded him that he was in no position to be choosy. Picking up his fork, he poked gingerly at the whiteish rice and interesting coloured lumps. He scooped some into his mouth and chewed tentatively. "Oh!" he said in pleasant surprise, "Not bad!"

"You astound me," drawled Douglas.

He tried to eat it slowly, but hunger got the best of him and it was rapidly gone.

The cabin door opened once again. "Hey Skip! You ate it all! Nice wasn't it? Mum sent me on a cookery course."

"In Ipswich?" Douglas and Martin asked simultaneously, and Arthur nodded.

"That's right. Oh, Skip, I just came to let you know that the girl still has a lemon on her head, and it's nearly been half an hour."

"Go on then, _sir_."

Martin stood up, donned his cap and left the flight deck. In a plane with only sixteen seats it was easy to scan all the passengers quickly and even easier to pick out the girl with a lemon on her head. He stood at the door for a second, taking her in. About his age, late twenties or early thirties. Long brown hair, big green eyes. She was saying something to her companion and they both laughed. And there perched in the masses of her curly hair, was a lemon. He wondered why it hadn't fallen off. He made his way through the cabin, smiling at people, and stopped by her seat.

"Good morning," he began.

"Oh, good morning to you too," she turned and spoke in a lilting Irish accent, smiled at him and suddenly his mouth was very dry. "I, uh, you…" he stared at her.

"Is something wrong captain?" she asked softly.

"Uh, no. No! Not at all. I was just wondering if you… If you were having a pleasant flight?" he saved himself desperately.

She smiled at him again. "Lovely, thank you."

He blinked at her. "Right. Good. That's good." And turned on his heel and strode back to the flight deck.

"Well, did sir find out why she had a lemon on her head?"

"Um. Not exactly, no."

"Hmm."

"You ask her!"

"Ok then, yes, I will. In a while. But first- Cardiff!"

"Ah, that's easy. Fitton."

"Nottingham."

"M…uh… muh… muh…" Martin growled in frustration.

The sat com buzzed. "Greetings Carolyn. Airport starting with M?"

"Moscow," she shot back, "How are you getting along? No diversions? No dead passengers?"

"We're _fine_ Carolyn," Martin said firmly.

"Yes, indeed we are. Just the strange case of the girl with a lemon on her head."

"Douglas, did you just say a lemon?"

"Yup."

"Odd. Well… that's all… I'm just coming!"

"Carolyn, who are you with?" asked Douglas, sounding suspicious.

"Nobody! I mean, that is…." She sounded oddly flustered.

"Well hello MJN," said a familiar smooth voice, "I'm afraid I have to take your CEO away now, we're going to the opera."

"What!" exclaimed Douglas, "Herc, you've persuaded Carolyn to go to the _opera_?"

"Bye all," Herc called happily as he shut off the communicator.

"Well that's a turn out." Douglas commented, "Who would have thought that Carolyn would be the one getting all the action?"

"Just because they're going to the opera doesn't mean she's getting… that they're… you know… urgh."

"Just you go on believing that. Anyway Carolyn said Moscow, so that gives you a W to play with."

"Mmm… Winnipeg!" Martin claimed triumphantly.

"Very nice, sir. In turn, I give you… Gwent."

"Why don't you go and talk to the lemon lady?"

"Buying a bit of time are you? Very well, but I expect a superb T when I'm back."

Douglas disappeared through the flight deck door and Martin found himself wondering if Herc and Carolyn really were getting together. He was pleased for her, he supposed, but it did highlight his failure to ever get a date. His inability to talk to, well, anybody outside his immediate circle of friends probably wasn't helping him there.

Douglas re-entered the cabin.

"Bit quick. What'd she say?" To his surprise, Douglas looked embarrassed.

"I… didn't ask her. She…" he sighed, "reminded me a lot of Helena when we first got together."

"I'm sorry Douglas."

"Bloody Tai Chi."

"Right, well. Time for pre-landing checks anyway. Incidentally, Toronto."

"Oslo." Douglas replied and started on the list of checks.

Twenty minutes later they were shutting down the engines. "Damn, I wish we knew about that lemon." Douglas murmured.

They both peeked out the flight deck as the passengers disembarked. Arthur was, as usual, saying goodbye to them.

"It was the pleasure of ourselves to fly yourselves today… Disembark yourselves carefully…"

Lemon-lady and her friend were at the end of the line. They reached Arthur and he looked at the lovely Irish girl and said straight, "Why do you have a lemon on your head?"

Both girls giggled a bit, and the lemon-wearing one retrieved said lemon and passed it to him.

"It was a bet," she explained, "Would you like to go for a drink with me? You know, for being the only person brave enough to mention it?"

Douglas and Martin exchanged incredulous glances.

"Oh thanks! Would have been lovely but we're going back now."

The girl actually looked disappointed. "Well, bye then." She leant forward quickly and pecked Arthur on the cheek.

"Bye!" said Arthur, cheery as always.

"Bloody hell," said Douglas to Martin.

"Even Arthur. Arthur!"

"Chin up, Martin. Let's go home."


	2. Corfu

**Corfu**

Martin arrived back at his house to find that the students were having a get together. Mostly in the living room. He cooked himself a small bowl of pasta (plain) and wandered along to see what they were up to.

"Hey! It's the Captain! C'mon Martin!"

He allowed himself a smile as he perched on a very tiny empty section of sofa. They were good kids.

"What's going on?"

"Finished our finals today!" exclaimed one of the many visitors. "No more studying!"

"Yayyyy," the others cheered. About fifteen of them were crammed into the small space and it seemed they were all drunk.

"Here captain," a cup was shoved in his direction, "celebrate with us."

Martin looked at the proffered cup and thought of getting up to fly tomorrow and then he thought of the van and looked at his miniscule meal. "Cheers!" he said, and drained it.

A lot later on, at least it was many drinks later, he was lying on the floor with bodies all around him.

"So, you're like, a real captain?" asked the girl who was lying next to him.

"Yes, yes I am. I fly planes. One plane really. Gerti."

"Wow, that's amazing," she was looking at him with starry eyes, "Do you have a hat and everything?"

"Sure do!"

She battered her eyelashes at him. "Can I see it?"

"Yeah, its upstairs. I'll go… get it…" he tried to sit up and the world span. "Oh." He held his head rather dazedly.

"Come on." He felt helping hands pushing the small of his back and he staggered ungainly to his feet. Negotiating the maze of bodies he left the room, fairly certain he had trodden on someone but hopefully not too painfully. Clinging to the banisters going up the stairs- why did he live on the second floor?- he felt an encouraging shove. He reached his room, wondered what it was he came for again?

The girl slipped past him. "Hat!" She grabbed it from the bed where he had dumped it, and put it on. It slipped straight over her eyes and she giggled. "Probably better on you." She reached up (she was several inches shorter than him) and placed it on his head. And she didn't back away, instead pressed her body closer and rose up on tiptoe. Martin watched her coming closer but he couldn't make his brain work, he couldn't think and then her lips were on his and she was kissing him and oh god she felt good and it had been so long.

She tugged him to the bed and pushed him down.

"You're drunk." He managed to blurt out.

"Mm yes. So are you." And then she cut off any further statements he might make by kissing him again.

X

He woke up the next morning, feeling sick and with a thumping headache, as his phone went off.

"Shit. Shit, shit." He scrabbled on his bedside table but it wasn't there.

"Got it," murmured a sleepy voice next to him. Shit!

"Don't," he started, but it was too late.

"Hello, the captain's phone."

Martin lay, paralysed, heard Douglas's voice say, "Who's that?"

"I'm Sam. Who're you?"

"Douglas Richardson, First Officer. What have you done to my Captain?"

Sam. Her name is Sam. Martin grabbed the knowledge tight.

"He's right here," she giggled down the phone, then handed it over. Martin was incredibly relieved to note that she appeared to be fully dressed.

"Hi," he croaked.

"Martin what are you _doing_? You were supposed to be here an hour ago. You're lucky that the client's pushed back to this afternoon. Carolyn's livid. And _who the hell_ is Sam?"

"Oh god. Douglas!"

X

Martin sat at the table, shamefaced, cradling a cup of coffee.

"So you get plastered and wake up with a strange girl in your bed, an hour late for work."

"That about sums it up, yes."  
>"And what did you do with Sam?"<p>

"Explained I was drunk and it was a mistake. She must be ten years younger than me Douglas!"

"What did she say? Anything?"

"I, well. I don't know. I was in a rush. I…"

"You left her in your bed?"

"Yes," said Martin wretchedly. He hoped to goodness that she would be gone when he got back and preferably that he would never see her again.

"You didn't…do… anything? Last night?"

"I don't remember anything. We were both fully dressed."

"Well, that's one good thing," Douglas said wryly, "No mini-Martins appearing in nine months."

"Oh god!" Martin stared at Douglas. He felt ashamed, and, somehow as though he'd let Douglas down. "I'm… so sorry Douglas."

"Have you two finished your little heart to heart?" Carolyn's voice sounded outside the cabin. "Just we've got some of this flying malarkey to do. You _do_ remember that's what you're here to do, don't you?"

"Coming, Carolyn," Douglas called, then turned back to Martin, concerned expression on his face, "Martin, you are…ok aren't you?" he gripped Martin's shoulder tightly.

Martin gulped down a sob, reached a hand to cover Douglas's. "I'll be alright. Thank you."

"Hmm." Douglas didn't sound convinced, but didn't say anything else, just squeezed his shoulder and then left the cabin.

X

"Post landing checks complete."

"Thank you Douglas." Martin leant back in his seat, staring out over the bright tarmac, low white terminal gleaming in the distance. "Seems weird to think I woke up six hours ago with a hangover in an attic in Fitton and now I'm in Corfu."

"Perks of the job."

"mmm."

Arthur rushed into the cabin. "The business-man bloke, you know how he wants us to fly him home too?"

"Seems understandable." Douglas murmured.

"Well – and this is brilliant! - His meeting's been postponed till tomorrow so we're staying here tonight! In Greece!"

"Oh, said Martin, "Well, that is fairly… brilliant."

"Arthur, emergency Euro check?"

"Check, Douglas!" Arthur waved a tin that rattled slightly.

"Mum says spend as much as you like but she'll want it back when we're home."

"You bet I do," Carolyn appeared behind her son, "So, we're off to sample the delights of Corfu town. You two, do whatever the hell you want, I don't care." The door swung shut behind them.

"First Officer exits plane by nearest door, enters closest taverna, stays in it a long time."

"Definitely with you."

X

It was a short bus ride into Corfu town, but the late afternoon heat was beating down and the bus was crowded. Douglas refused to stop at the first taverna they saw, which appeared to serve chips with everything. "Pandering to the tourists. Look, that's the thing we're after." He tugged Martin down a side alley which opened into a courtyard. The taverna had no English signs at all, but Douglas smiled and pushed Martin into one of the rickety wooden chairs that were placed next to equally unsturdy tables, outside the taverna door. "Sit. I'll get drinks."

Martin was half dazed by heat and his lingering hangover. "Water! Please."

Douglas strode inside as though he owned the place. Martin dimly heard "Kalispera!" as he sank his head down, pillowed on his arms, and gratefully closed his eyes.

He wasn't sleeping, just resting, so heard Douglas come out again and the pleasant clink of bottles.

"Oh, Captain Crieff…" Douglas sighed. He jiggled Martin's shoulder and Martin stirred under the pressure. There was something very secure feeling, the way that Douglas did that. "Come on Martin, wakey wakey. Here's your water."

Martin heaved himself upright with an effort. His head objected to the movement and span wildly. As the world came into view again his gaze was focussed on Douglas, sitting opposite him, concerned expression on his face and glass of water in his hand. Martin took the water, thankfully. The first gulp of ice cold freshness shot through him and he felt revived.

"Didn't know you spoke Greek."

"I know enough of any European language to be able to, um, charm people, shall we say," Douglas grinned, "Yamas!"

"It's all about getting laid for you isn't it?" Martin half grumbled,

"Hey now, _I_ wasn't the one with an attractive twenty one year old in my bed last night. I assume she _was_ attractive? Maybe now you're recovering somewhat you can tell me about it without 'oh gods' punctuating your sentences at every third word.

"Oh god!"

"Clearly not…" Douglas took another gulp of his beer. "Seriously though, I'm curious. You pulled a girl. I want to know the juicy details."

Martin glared at him, then gave in. After all, he was bound to find out everything sooner or later, this was Douglas.

"There aren't any. At least, not that I can remember. I got home, a party was going on, I had a drink. Next thing I wake up to your phone call with a girl lying next to me."

"Sam," supplied Douglas helpfully, "she sounded rather nice."

"You had more of a conversation with her than I did."

"Point taken. But what of this, if not romantic then at least happily drunken, story, necessitates the use of 'oh god'?

Martin stared at him. "Because there was girl in my bed. I didn't even know her."

"And…?"

Martin hid his face in his hands. "I'm… I'm… Well that is…. And I'm not even sure I swing that way."

"Martin. Are you saying you might be _gay_? What about Linda? Your general inability to talk to women? Saying that Arthur wasn't your type? Gay? Really?"

"Like I said, Douglas, I don't _know_. But Arthur isn't my type because, he's, well, _Arthur_. It'd be like dating a rather sweet twelve year old with all the not-good feelings that'd be associated. And I can't talk to women because I went to an all-boys school all through my childhood and I went to Cubs and Scouts and there were never any girls _ever_ and I have no idea what girls are like. I just don't understand them."

"Think most men don't understand them, to be honest."

"Oh god Douglas, I'm sorry. I forgot about Helena. Do you…want to talk about it?"

Douglas shrugged. "It was all rather quick. Said she loved the Tai-Chi bloke. And, rather cryptically, said it had been obvious for some time that my attention was straying elsewhere and it would be easier for everybody if we accepted the inevitable now."

"Attention straying elsewhere? Really Douglas?"

"Well, that's the thing because there just aren't any other women in my life. I mean apart from Carolyn, obviously," they both shuddered, "and that's absurd."

Douglas picked up his beer bottle and eyed it pensively. "All gone. Need more. Back in a tick." He disappeared, leaving Martin alone. The small courtyard was empty and he felt peaceful. The pleasant sounds of an early evening and that unique smell that wasn't definable but was just inherently Greece was drifting. Not a bad end to a day that had such an awkward start. Douglas plonked himself down, placing a full bottle carefully on the table and passing Martin a menu. "May as well stay here for dinner."

"Douglas, this is all in Greek."

"Yes, and it's definitely Greek to you."

"Hah. Hah. How do I know what to pick?" More importantly, how did he know what the cheapest thing on the menu actually was. Don't want to end up with… octopus or something.

Douglas leaned over and quickly translated all the main headings. The cheapest section by a long way was the salads. "This one?" Martin pointed at the very cheapest.

"Ah. Greek Salad."

"I'll have that then."

"Sure, anything else?"

Martin shook his head. "I'm never hungry when it's hot," he improvised quickly.

Douglas raised an eyebrow but said nothing. A waiter appeared out of nowhere and Douglas rattled over what Martin assumed was their order. The man grinned and disappeared into the dark depths of the taverna.

A few minutes later a basket of bread with fresh butter materialised on the table. Martin eyed it and his stomach decided to remind him that he he'd eaten nothing for twenty four hours.

"It's complimentary," Douglas pointed out, and Martin needed no further encouragement. He tore off a hunk, didn't worry about the niceties of butter and shoved it into his mouth. It was lovely, freshly baked, crunchy crust and soft and fluffy inside, but what was most wonderful to Martin was the fact that it was food, in his mouth and shortly in his stomach.

" 'ss good!" he said through a mouthful, to Douglas who looked a tiny bit worried.

Douglas didn't want any of the bread himself - "Bit boring for me,"- so Martin ate the lot, and it was heavenly. He munched mouthful after mouthful, watched Douglas swig back gulps of beer. After a while, Martin twigged what was wrong with this picture, what had been wrong the entire time.

"Douglas," and it came out indistinctly through the bread, "you're drinking. Actually drinking. It's been what, ten years?"

"I wondered when you'd notice."

"Why?"

For a wonder, Douglas looked away. "I stopped drinking for _her_ and now she's gone. There seems no reason to deprive myself any longer."

Martin blinked, "We all…care about you, you know, Douglas."

They eyed each other across the table, the penniless Captain and his four-failed-marriages First Officer.

"I know," said Douglas.


	3. Fitton

Fitton

It was Saturday, there was no flying and as usual he had no van work booked. It had been over two weeks now, and the dire situation was beginning, if possible, to look worse. But it was Saturday, and the weather was nice, so Martin had put a smile on and baked his last potato for lunch. A treat. He was just savouring the last crisp bit of the skin when his phone rang.

"Hi Douglas, what's up?"

"Martin, it's a nice day, everybody's free. I've booked us in for a round of crazy golf in Fitton."

"You've done _what_?"

"Crazy Golf." I take it you're not actually busy? I'll pick you up in twenty minutes, we're meeting Arthur and Carolyn there."

X

"Douglas what _are_ you thinking?" Carolyn glared at him as she slammed the car door shut.

"It's a nice day, I thought it would be a good team bonding exercise."

"Team bonding?" she asked suspiciously, "We already spend most of our time locked up together in a small metal tube, what more bonding could we possibly need?"

"Oh come on Carolyn," a new voice cut in, "It'll be fun."

"Herc? Carolyn, why did you bring _him_?"

"Well he was round our house Douglas," Arthur clambered out of the passenger door, "So it'd have been a bit mean to leave him behind."

"That's enough, Arthur!"

"Are we going to play crazy golf or not?" interjected Martin.

"Oh hello Skip! Great to see you!"

"You saw me two days ago, Arthur." Martin pointed out, but pleased nonetheless.

"It's always great to see you Skip."

Herc eyed Martin, "On a diet? You've lost a lot of weight."

"Look, I've already got the putters and balls," Douglas put in hurriedly as Martin flushed, "Let's get going shall we?"

X

They congregated at the first hole, decided that the order of play should be decided by seniority, and promptly had an argument over it.

Only Arthur stayed out of it: "I don't care who goes first, I just like playing crazy golf. So can you all please just make up your minds who's the alpha dog and then we can play."

"Alpha dog?"

"Never mind Herc, it'd take too long to explain," Carolyn told him, "Let's make it age order. That'll be Herc first, then me, Douglas, Martin and Arthur last."

"Am I really older than you, though?" Herc eyed her speculatively.

"Well thank you very much for that tender compliment!"

"I didn't mean to insult you. Come on, tell me."

"No!" Carolyn stuck her nose in the air.

"Can you two argue about this later please?" Douglas asked, "There'll be a queue behind us soon."

"Oh very well, I'll go first." Herc sighed. He placed his ball down and took a shot. It was the first hole, supposed to be a simple one, and the only obstacle was a slight incline to the hole. He managed it in two shots triumphantly and Carolyn frowned.

"Don't gloat till I've had my go."

"Do you think they ever say anything nice to each other?" Martin murmured in Douglas's ear, "I dread to think what their conversation in bed is like."

"Probably argue over who has the better technique." Douglas whispered back, and they both chuckled.

Carolyn equalled Herc's two shots, and so did Douglas. To Martin's utter frustration he took four attempts. Then Arthur stepped up, placed his ball, tapped it- and got a hole in one. Everybody stared.

"Must have been a fluke."

"If you say so Douglas." Arthur said cheerily.

By the time they had reached the fifth hole, however, they had been forced to admit that it wasn't fluke at all. Arthur was just really good at crazy golf. Martin had hit two balls completely out of the game, Douglas had taken fifteen shots and the third hole and Carolyn and Herc had nearly had a fight over the fourth, which had had miniature sheep as part of the obstacles. But Arthur just kept calmly hitting his holes in one or two shots. It was odd, disconcerting even. They were all so used to him being the one to tease about being useless that they were at a loss. Douglas couldn't even say 'well done', because it automatically came out incredibly sarcastically.

"So, seriously Douglas," said Martin as they waited patiently for yet another Herc-and-Carolyn argument to end, "Why did you suddenly decide that we all ought to play crazy golf?"

Douglas shrugged. "We all need a new challenge occasionally."

"Douglas…"

"Fine. Swear you won't repeat this to anyone," Martin shook his head quickly, and Douglas sighed, "I was lonely. And I thought it would be fun. Oh look, my go." And he strode off hurriedly.

Arthur approached Martin as Douglas took his first of many shots. "Is Douglas alright Skip?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just sometimes, he has this odd look about him, like he's, I don't know, there's something missing."

Martin gaped at him, "Have you been on another understanding people course?"

"Oh no. It's just I know Douglas really well. Like Mum."

Martin looked over at Carolyn, who was now jabbing her putter enthusiastically at Herc's chest. "And how is… your mum?"

"Oh, she's really happy."

"Really?" Martin asked, somewhat incredulously.

"Oh yes. She only argues and threatens people when she likes them. So she must _really_ like Herc. When Dad was around she was all quiet and never argued with him ever."

"Carolyn? Quiet?"

"Yup. Which is how I know she's happy now, cos she used to cry all the time."

"Your go Martin!" yelled Douglas and Arthur smiled encouragingly.

"Good luck Skip."

How they reached the final hole without somebody being dead or at least seriously maimed was anybody's guess. Herc and Carolyn hadn't spoken for ten minutes and Douglas was increasingly frustrated that he was being beaten into next week by Arthur, _Arthur_ who wasn't good at anything ever.

As before, Herc and Carolyn had their goes first and Carolyn, who was jotting down all their scores, waved the card triumphantly as her ball went in. "Beat you! I beat you!"

"Carolyn!" Herc glared at her, then grabbed her by her outstretched arm and pulled her close to him. "You look bloody gorgeous when you're gloating." And then he kissed her soundly.

"Urgh. Mum!" Arthur sounded like a disgusted teenager. But Douglas and Martin saw the real passion behind the kiss, looked away awkwardly and momentarily caught each other's eyes. For no discernable reason, Martin blushed deeply and Douglas blinked and cleared his throat.

"Right, enough of that! My go."

In the end, Arthur beat everybody hands down. Douglas came second, but a long way behind; Carolyn beat Herc by one point and Martin trailed in a miserable fifth.

"Never mind Skip," Arthur consoled him, "You'll be much better next time."

"Next time?"

"Why not?" asked Carolyn, "I must say I'm very pleased to discover the one thing that Douglas isn't great at, and a repeat would be highly amusing."

"Thank you, Carolyn. Now, we've got a nice long evening to spare, lets go out for a meal. My treat." He finished hurriedly as Martin opened his mouth to protest.

They ended up at a nice pub that Douglas, of course, knew. Arthur was hugely excited that they served pineapple juice, Herc eyed the excellent selection of Real Ales and Carolyn protested that she most certainly could drive safely after only a pint. "I'm not a lightweight, Herc."

"I never suggested that you were. Only that as the safety of both your son and myself depends on your ability to drive safely, you might want to regulate your intake."

At the other end of the bar, Douglas was also surveying the beer on offer. Martin shuffled closer to him, and safe in the knowledge that the others were all distracted, put his arm on Douglas's sleeve. "Don't, Douglas." Douglas glared at him and Martin met his gaze squarely. "Please."

Douglas frowned but Martin wouldn't look away and kept his hand on Douglas's arm. Finally Douglas blinked away, and when the barman came to take his order, he sighed, and asked for a lemonade.

It was a companionable evening, all crammed round a small pub table, Herc and Douglas regaling them with stories from Air England and Martin managing to contribute a few from some of his weirder van jobs. The food was excellent, the servings large and so it was a very content Martin who was dropped off by Douglas late that evening.

"Thanks for today Douglas, I had a great time." Martin said as they pulled up outside his house.

"One of my better ideas, I think."

"And that's saying something!" Martin joked. He pushed the car door open and turned back to Douglas.

"Thanks." He said again.

There was a moment when, as they stared at each other, something more might have been said. But it wasn't, and the moment passed. Martin stood in the warm night air, waved as Douglas's car rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight. Then he shrugged, smiled and went in.


	4. Madrid

Madrid

On Sunday, Martin was feeling optimistic. He'd had a good meal on Saturday and now he had four days free from flying in which he could be a man with a van. So when his only booked customer called to cancel, he sighed, made himself a mug of black coffee and told himself it would pick up.

On Monday, he was feeling less chirpy. Hunger had set back in and a detailed search of the kitchen revealed that when the students had left last week they had cleared out thoroughly. Breakfast, lunch and dinner were once again black coffee.

On Tuesday, he was so hungry he could barely think.

On Wednesday, he didn't get out of bed. Merely curled up around the ache in his stomach and tried to sleep the day away.

Thursday, and he dressed himself lethargically, every movement costing him energy he could ill-afford to expend. Carolyn played a frenzy outside on her car horn and he made his way slowly down the two flights of stairs and out to the car. He tried to focus on her briefing, but only took in that they were going to Madrid and he would be operating out.

At the airfield he clambered out of the car, didn't see the look that Douglas gave him, and announced to nobody in particular, "I'll do the flight plan." As if Douglas would ever do it.

He seated himself at the table, tried to focus. The table, being mainly used as Carolyn's desk was something of a mess. He rummaged through; trying to find his log book, then remembered he'd left it on the bookshelf by the door. Just as he realised this, Arthur entered, with a smile on his face as usual.

"Oh Arthur, could you pass me my logbook?"

"Sure thing Skip. Where is it?"

"On the bookshelf." Arthur looked at the stacks of books and started sorting through them slowly. "Oh come on, look, it's the blue one on the right," but Arthur wasn't getting any closer. "For heaven's sake…" Martin muttered to himself, and pushed himself to his feet. He rose quickly, annoyed, but as he moved to step around the desk, he felt the room spin. Lights flashed before his eyes, and then everything began to darken. The last thing he knew was Arthur's frantic cry of "Skip!" as he fell.

Douglas cornered Carolyn before she followed Martin into the Portakabin.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Carolyn, you have _got_ to start paying Martin."

"Got to? What 'got to' is there about it?"

"Haven't you looked at him recently? Even Herc noticed. He's as skinny as a rake, practically inhales any food put in front of him. He's obviously struggling, seriously struggling."

Carolyn shrugged. "I told him I'd think about it."

"When?"

"Qikiqtarjuaq."

"Carolyn that was _months_ ago."

"And I did think about it and I simply can't afford to."

"Carolyn-"

But whatever argument Douglas was about to make was cut off as Arthur's terrified cry rang out.

"Skip! Mum, MUM, Douglas, HELP!"

Without even thinking, Douglas burst round the corner, into the office and stopped short. Arthur was kneeling on the floor, cradling Martin's prone body.

"Arthur, what happened?" he snapped as he knelt down beside him.

"Skip was standing up and then he just sort of… fell down."

"He wasn't dizzy?"

"Don't think so Douglas."

Douglas slipped an arm behind Martin's back, gently relieving Arthur of his burden. "We've got to get him into the recovery position." He laid Martin to the floor, carefully placed Martin's left hand on his right cheek, pulled up his leg and manoeuvred him onto his side. He was shocked that he could feel how bony Martin was, even through his uniform.

Martin safely in the recovery position, he looked up at Carolyn, who was standing, horrified, in the doorway.

"Carolyn," he said.

She nodded and thrust her purse at Arthur. "Go to the canteen; get soup, sandwiches, anything you can carry."

Arthur took the purse, for once didn't ask any questions, and rushed away.

Douglas sat back against the wall, knees pulled up, head in his hands and barely in control of himself.

"Douglas," Carolyn started.

"Give him half my salary," Douglas said to his hands, "Just do it, please."

"I will," Carolyn choked, "I'm…sorry…"

Martin stirred and Douglas moved instantly to crouch by his head.

"What…happened?"

"You fainted, that's all," Douglas said reassuringly, "I'll help you up." With Douglas's arm securely round his waist and his body anchoring him firmly, they got Martin safely to the chair.

Martin sat gratefully. He still wasn't quite sure what had happened between standing up to get his log book and waking up on the floor. Douglas's hand was a welcome weight on his shoulder.

Arthur came in with two bags, dumped them on the table and smiled at Martin. "Feeling better now Skip? I brought you some things and don't worry, I didn't cook any of it."

Martin smiled back faintly, but couldn't articulate an answer. Carolyn, with a tact very rarely displayed, hustled Arthur out of the cabin - "Come on, cleaning to do!" – and shut the door, leaving her two pilots alone.

Douglas finally let go of Martin, shoved a pile of paper off the only other chair in the cabin and drew it up so that he was sitting opposite his captain. He opened the bags that Arthur had left, drew out the takeaway carton of soup from the canteen and the silly plastic spoon that was given with it. Carefully, he opened the lid and set it down in front of Martin.

Martin looked away, red to the tips of his ears.

Douglas sighed, rummaged in the bag and to his relief, found another spoon. He helped himself to a large spoonful, and then another, with every sign of enjoyment. Finally, Martin tentatively picked up his spoon, gulped a mouthful down, and then a second. Douglas carried on eating. Not saying a word, they finished the soup in silence. When they had drained the last drop, Martin set his spoon down, turned away.

Douglas stared at the taut muscles in Martin's neck, the erratic movement of his adam's apple. He stood up, slowly, knelt in front of Martin's chair. Looking up, he was Martin's eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Martin, talk to me. Please."

Martin gulped, shook his head.

"Why, why didn't you tell us? Tell me? We could have helped. Why did you let it go on so long?"

"Douglas," croaked Martin, "Oh Douglas."

Douglas leant forward, embraced Martin. Arms right round him, Martin's chin tucked neatly on his shoulder, feeling the sobs running through his thin frame and the silent tears that were wetting his shirt. "You silly, silly boy," Douglas murmured gently. He held him until the sobs seemed to have quietened down, and then drew back. "Why, Martin?"

"I wanted to sort it out on my own. All I needed was a good few van jobs, I thought it would be difficult but I'd get through it. I just… couldn't… tell anybody that I was doing such a miserable job of looking after myself. I know it seems silly."

Douglas gripped the bony shoulder tightly. "When did you least eat, Martin?"

Martin stared at his lap, "On Saturday, after crazy golf."

Douglas grabbed the bag from the table, pulled out a sandwich, "For god's sake, eat the sandwich," he unwrapped it and passed it to Martin, who took it slowly. "I knew something was wrong when we were in Greece. I had no idea… that was weeks ago!"

He moved back to his chair then, gave Martin a bit of space to eat the sandwich, and with an idea growing, hopefully, like a bud in early spring, in the back of his mind.

"Martin," he said, "Move in with me."


	5. Madrid - actually

Really Madrid this time

"Move in with me," Douglas said.

Martin nearly choked on his sandwich, eyes going wide with confusion. He said nothing though, so Douglas continued. "I told you on Saturday that I was lonely. Martin, I'm desperately lonely. I'm so used to somebody being there and it's too big a house for just me. I – started drinking again, not just because Helena left, but because I couldn't cope with being totally on my own. I'm not a person who can live a solitary life. So," he looked at Martin hopefully, "It would help both of us. Fewer bills for you and company for me. A win-win situation."

Martin scanned his face for signs of a joke, but found none. "I'll think about it, and tell you when we're back from Madrid."

"Madrid? But you're in no state to fly!"

Martin smiled wryly, "Do you think that little fact would make Carolyn cancel on a customer? And anyway, I'm fine now I've got some food in me." He smiled at Douglas's sceptical look, "Come on, First Officer of mine, lets go fly some plane."

"Are you sure?" Douglas studied him carefully.

"I'm sure." Martin assured him, and if, as Douglas helped him up, their hands lingered for a second more than necessary, neither of them mentioned it.

Douglas was deliberately light hearted on the way out: played any word games he could think of and laughed at Arthur's inability to cope with the stroppy passenger in 3B. In an atmosphere of complete normality, Martin relaxed. With a decent amount of food in him and the fact that he didn't have to hide his secret anymore, he was feeling considerably better than he had for some time.

Carolyn had, as usual, booked them into a grotty hotel. Douglas took one look at the hotel restaurant and turned to his companions. "Come on you two, lets go and find some food that won't give us food poisoning."

"Great, Douglas!" Arthur responded enthusiastically. Martin just smiled, eyes meeting Douglas's, and nodded. They walked down the street, Arthur bouncing in front like an excited puppy, Douglas and Martin following and occasionally glancing at each other, furtively from the corner of their eyes.

"Oh wow, Douglas look, karaoke! Can we please?"

Douglas cocked an eyebrow at Martin, who grinned reluctantly. "Oh, why not. They do food as well. Could be worse."

The bar wasn't too crowded, and Douglas and Martin grabbed themselves stools as Arthur went to the karaoke stage.

"What do you think he'll sing?" Martin asked.

Douglas chuckled, "I doubt he'll find 'Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines'."

Drinks arrived: apple juice for Douglas and a beer for Martin. Martin's fingers twitched nervously around his glass. "Douglas, did you really mean it?"

"Of course I did, Martin."

"And… it's not just because you feel sorry for me?"

"I meant what I said," Douglas stole a glance at his captain, who was looking very uncomfortable. "Anyway, remember our little trip to Ottery St Mary?"

"Sorry?" Martin sounded, and looked, confused.

"I drove you to Ottery St Mary, well, flew you, but I _meant_ to drive you, and therefore you owe me a colossal favour. I'm calling that favour in now. Martin, you can repay me by moving in and saving me from the dreariness of long days on my own."

"You really mean that, don't you? You really_ are_ lonely."

They stared at each other for a moment and then Arthur's voice cut through the tension. "I'm spinning around…"

"You've got to be kidding me," sighed Douglas.

"You know what they say, if you can't beat them, join them." Martin wiggled his eyebrows and Douglas groaned.

"I don't even have the benefit of alcohol for this."

"Go get 'em, Douggie," grinned Martin.

"I officially hate you, oh captain." But nonetheless, he drained his glass and joined an enthusiastic Arthur at the microphone.


End file.
